


looks that books take pages to tell

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Does he not realise that you have a boyfriend?” Enjolras mutters, twenty-three minutes into Cosette’s wait.</p><p>She looks up from where she just happens to be texting Marius. “Who?” she asks, blinking. “Grantaire?”</p><p>“Yes,” Enjolras snaps. “<i>Grantaire</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	looks that books take pages to tell

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of inspired by this [photoset](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/post/108444313183/efficacity-16-year-old-twins-and-models-pyper).
> 
> And also because J came up to me and said, "You can write yourself a birthday fic if you want to write yourself a birthday fic. TREAT YO SELF."

Enjolras is stabbing viciously at his salad when Cosette comes to him, sipping at a juice box. 

“Are you still angry that he called you _pretty boy_?” she asks him, nudging at his shoulder when his frown stays in place. It’s a good look on him, Cosette will give him that; she’s never mastered the surly look herself. “It’s a compliment, technically,” she points out.

Enjolras’ scowl deepens. “It’s not that,” he says, but fails to elaborate. 

Cosette sighs and settles more comfortable into the couch. It never really takes all that long for Enjolras to crack and start ranting, and they’re supposed to resume the shoot in another hour, so it’s not like she has anywhere else to be. 

“Does he not realise that you have a boyfriend?” Enjolras mutters, twenty-three minutes into Cosette’s wait.

She looks up from where she just happens to be texting Marius. “Who?” she asks, blinking. “Grantaire?”

“Yes,” Enjolras snaps. “ _Grantaire_.” 

Cosette stares at him for a long moment before she breaks into a grin. “You’re not upset because of the _pretty boy_ comment,” she says, finally fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. “You’re upset that he called me _sweetheart_. That snipe on his professionalism wasn’t you being grumpy after a long shoot, it was you being _jealous_.” She lets out a soft laugh. “Enjolras, do you _like_ Grantaire?” 

“I do not,” Enjolras says heatedly, but the back of his neck flushes, the way it does whenever he’s flustered. He’s never really been a good liar, and Cosette has never been more grateful for that fact.

“This is the best thing ever,” Cosette says gleefully. “Grantaire’s never going to believe me.”

Enjolras’ eyes widen. “You’re not telling him,” he hisses. 

Cosette smirks. “The right thing to say would’ve been that there was nothing to tell,” she says, and laughs as she watches Enjolras’ face go red. “Oh, Enjolras.”

“You’re not telling him,” Enjolras says again, softer this time, before he groans and sags against Cosette. “He’s just so… _annoying_.” He lets out a sigh when Cosette pats his knee encouragingly. “And _talented_.” He pauses for a moment, and then makes a noise of deep frustration. “And _his hands_.”

Cosette laughs. 

—

“I feel,” Cosette says when they start shooting again, and the tilt of her head is designed to make her seem more innocent, but Enjolras knows trouble when he sees it, and Cosette, right in this moment, is trouble, “that this particular shot would be a lot better if it was just Enjolras alone. What do you think, Grantaire?”

Grantaire frowns, and turns his gaze on Enjolras, considering. 

Enjolras simultaneously loves and hates the way Grantaire’s entire focus is on him, loves and hates the way Grantaire’s gaze sweeps down his body as if he’s trying to map every inch of it out, loves and hates the way Grantaire’s tongue darts out to wet his lips a little before he looks back to Cosette again. 

“You know what? I think you’re right.” he says. To Enjolras, he says, “Lose the tie, undo the first two buttons of your shirt? Someone mess him up a little. We want him to look rumpled, dishevelled.”

Enjolras follows Grantaire’s directions, and obediently lets Jehan run his fingers artfully through his hair and roll his sleeves up. He only glares at Cosette (who is grinning at him, completely unapologetic — he’s disowning her for real this time) a little, because he’s a professional, and Grantaire is very good at his job of making him look very good, even if he does have to try harder to do so than with anyone else. His solo shoots always take twice as long as Cosette’s, what with Grantaire having to shoot him from literally _every angle_ , before he’s satisfied with the end product. It’s almost as though Grantaire’s camera _hates_ Enjolras. 

“Enjolras, hold that position. Jehan, out of the shot, please,” Grantaire says suddenly, and Jehan moves away from Enjolras after one last tug of his waistcoat. “Straight into the camera,” Grantaire tells him, and hears the shutter click a few times just as he looks up. 

“I wasn’t ready,” he tells Grantaire, frowning. 

Grantaire ignores him and says instead, “Keep the frown.”

Enjolras scowls at him. 

“ _Brilliant_ ,” Grantaire says. “Can you-” He turns away from Enjolras to look at Jehan. “Are the shoes important or can he take his shoes off?”

Jehan barely suppresses their grin. “You just like watching us remove pieces off Enjolras,” they say, but gives Enjolras the nod to remove his shoes anyway, and doesn’t say anything about the way the tips of Enjolras’ ears flush.

“Where do you want me?” Enjolras asks when he’s taken off both his shoes and his socks. 

“Everywhere,” Grantaire mutters under his breath, and Enjolras bristles at that, because Grantaire doesn’t give any of the other models this much shit. 

It’s really not his fault that he looks bad enough in Grantaire’s photos that he has to keep redoing them; he’s quite highly sought after in the industry, and no other photographer’s had this problem with Enjolras ever.

He settles down into a sprawl on the couch instead of voicing his thoughts out, still frowning lightly. 

Grantaire makes a noise high in his throat, but when Enjolras turns over to look at him, he clears his throat instead and says, “Tip your head a little higher up.”

Enjolras does as he says.

“A little higher,” Grantaire says, frowning. “No, not that way.” He sets his camera down and walks towards Enjolras, catching Enjolras’ chin in his hand, tipping up. “Your gaze is in the wrong direction. Here, look at-” He pauses mid-speech, blinks at Enjolras, as if only just realising their proximity. “Look at me,” he finishes softly.

Enjolras swallows.

“You’re not frowning anymore,” Grantaire notes softly, and he still has Enjolras’ chin lightly between his thumb and his index finger, not moving away, and Enjolras wants to dip his head down so he can suck Grantaire’s fingers into his mouth. 

He turns his head away from Grantaire. “Give me something to frown about, then,” he says, the usual heat in his voice absent. 

Grantaire doesn’t nitpick when Enjolras’ gaze isn’t in the right direction when they resume shooting.

—

“What was that all about?” Cosette asks, punching Enjolras hard in the arm when Grantaire calls for a break. “You ruined a moment!” 

“I-” He swallows and looks away from Cosette. “I was being too obvious.”

Cosette blinks at him, bemused. “So?”

“ _He’ll know_ ,” Enjolras says miserably. “He’ll know and he’ll laugh and we still have two more days with him and it’ll be awful.” 

Cosette groans. “You’re my brother and I love you, but you are so _daft_. God, Enjolras, he’s not going to laugh if he finds out. He’s going to be over the moon!”

Enjolras makes a face at her, and sighs when she glares at him. “He’s not,” he tells her. “He hates working with me.”

Her face softens at that. “Did he tell you that?” she asks. “Because if he did, I swear I will-”

“He didn’t,” Enjolras cuts her off quickly, because Cosette is very creative when it comes to threats, and some of the things she thinks of actually makes him queasy. “It was sort of implied, though.” He shrugs. “He likes you a lot better,” he says, glad that it didn’t come out sounding bitter. “And that’s fine, because you’re the nice twin, of course he would like you better. It doesn’t matter.”

“He doesn’t-” Cosette whacks him in the arm again. “Have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?” 

Enjolras cocks his head slightly. “No?”

“He stares at you like he can’t bring himself to look away,” Cosette tells him simply, and his stomach flutters because Cosette’s never lied to him before, and it doesn’t sound like she’s doing it to spare his feelings right now. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room worth looking at, which is kind of insulting, but it’s _you_ he’s smitten with, so I’m okay with that.”

“He’s not-” He works his throat, tries to find enough words to express the way his brain is working through their interactions, looking for proof to back Cosette’s words. “He’s not smitten with me, what the hell, Cosette?”

“He really, really is,” Cosette says patiently. “Look, turn around.”

Enjolras chances a glance behind him and catches Grantaire looking at him. Grantaire drops his gaze the moment he sees Enjolras looking over, and slips into Feuilly and Jehan’s conversation, trying to look inconspicuous. He is blushing lightly, though, as if he’s embarrassed at being caught staring. 

“Oh,” Enjolras says.

“Oh,” Cosette echoes, shaking her head.

—

Enjolras has never been good at biding his time or keeping things to himself, which is why he heads straight for Grantaire after they finish the day’s shoot. Cosette, bless her, clears the room out for them in under a minute.

When Grantaire notices that it’s only Enjolras and him left in the room, he lets out a sigh, and says, “I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable today. If you want to request a change of photographer, I will call in a few favours to get myself excused from this shoot.”

“What?” Enjolras asks, confused. “No, _what_. I don’t want another photographer. That wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about at all.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, looking visibly relieved. “Did you want to look through the photos, then? Cosette already went through them the last break we had. She’s happy with most the photos, but I have a few of yours that turned out particularly good that I think you should check to see if you’re okay with too?”

“I-” He nods, because the words _do you like me?_ are stuck in his throat, unwilling to be voiced. “I’d love to see them. I don’t think I’ve seen any since we started shooting.” 

Grantaire smiles at him and fishes his laptop out. “You’ve never asked to see them,” he says. “I just figured it was because you knew you’d look good in them no matter what.”

“I’m not sure if that was a compliment directed at me or at you,” Enjolras says, and smiles when it makes Grantaire laugh.

“Here,” Grantaire says, and scrolls through the photos of Enjolras’ solo shoots. 

Enjolras looks through them quietly. They’re all- They’re all _great_ photos of him. He knows he’s physically attractive, and he’s had good photographers before, but his photos have never looked like this before. 

“I-” he starts to say, before he trails off again when they get to the photos taken today.

“Your gaze was still in the wrong direction,” Grantaire murmurs, and when Enjolras turns from the laptop to look at Grantaire, he finds Grantaire’s eyes on the screen, lips curved up in a slightly rueful grin. “But it turned out looking gorgeous anyway, of course it did.”

He swallows, and says, “Grantaire, I would like very much for you to kiss me.”

Grantaire turns over to gape at him, stunned. “What?” 

Enjolras repeats himself, and stares steadily back at Grantaire when Grantaire continues to do nothing but to stare at him in complete confusion. 

“Please,” Enjolras adds, more as an afterthought than anything, and Grantaire does, just leans in and brushes his lips over Enjolras’ gently before he pulls away again. 

“Again,” Enjolras says, and this time, when Grantaire leans in, Enjolras cups the back of Grantaire’s neck to pull him closer, nips at Grantaire’s bottom lip when he feels Grantaire’s hands on his hips, licks into Grantaire’s mouth when his lips part on a shaky sigh. 

“Ask me to go home with you, Grantaire,” Enjolras breathes when they part, eyes fluttering shut when Grantaire reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind Enjolras’ ear. “Ask me, please, Grantaire.”

Grantaire does.

—

He lets Grantaire press him down into the mattress, and sighs when he climbs in with him, fingers trailing down Enjolras’ sides. 

“Beautiful,” Grantaire breathes out, eyes dark with arousal. 

Enjolras flushes, barely able to stop himself from shivering under the intensity of Grantaire’s gaze, and Grantaire huffs a laugh, leaning down to press his lips to the corner of Enjolras’ lips. 

“I can’t be the first person to tell you that you look pretty,” Grantaire says.

“You’re not,” Enjolras tells him. “But you’re not just saying that, you look at me like-” he trails off, unsure, and licks his lips. He lets out a shaky sigh when Grantaire’s fingers tighten on his hips. “Like-”

“Like you’re a work of art,” Grantaire finishes for him. “Which you are.” He brings his hand up to cup Enjolras’ face, running his thumb lightly over Enjolras’ cheekbones. The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I still have trouble with that sometimes. Nothing else in the room compares. Nothing else _anywhere_ compares.”

And Enjolras doesn’t know how else to reply to that except to surge up to kiss Grantaire, snaking his arms around Grantaire’s neck, pulling Grantaire flush against his body.

They stay like that for a remarkably long time, breathing kisses into each other’s mouths, wandering fingers mapping out every inch of each other’s exposed skins. When Grantaire takes to biting lightly at Enjolras’ shoulder, Enjolras groans and pushes him away gently. 

“No marks,” Enjolras explains. “I have a shoot tomorrow.”

Grantaire laughs. “You have a shoot with me tomorrow, and it is my professional opinion that you would look amazing with beard burn and hickeys,” he tells Enjolras, but obediently presses a kiss to Enjolras’ neck this time, instead of biting down the way he would’ve liked. 

Enjolras moans. “Rain check for the both of them?” he asks, breath stuttering as Grantaire kisses his way down his chest, pausing to nip gently at his hipbone. “God, Grantaire, _I want_ -”

Grantaire looks up at him. “What do you want, Enjolras? Tell me what you want, I want to give you everything you want.” 

_I want everything with you_ , Enjolras wants to say, but he settles for breathing out, “You. I want you. God, Grantaire, _please_.” 

Grantaire gives him exactly what he wants.

—

After, when they’re both sated and lying in each other’s arms, swapping lazy kisses and even lazier touches, Enjolras notices that Grantaire is looking at him, concentrating the way he does when he’s trying to work out postures and poses and lighting, and feels his body tingle with the undercurrents of a softer pleasure.

He lets his eyelids flutter shut, smiles, and says, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Grantaire snorts and runs his fingers through Enjolras’ hair gently. “You know,” he says, “photography isn’t my preferred medium of art. I’m good at it, and it pays well, but it isn’t my preferred medium.”

At that, Enjolras cracks open one eye. “Oh?” he asks. “Then what is?” 

Grantaire leans over Enjolras to reach for the sketchbook and the pencil lying on his bedside table. He flips open to an unoccupied page, and asks, “Are you comfortable enough to hold this position for me for about an hour?” 

It’s more of a rhetorical question, since Enjolras is sprawled out as comfortably as he can be on Grantaire’s bed, but he still grins when Grantaire starts sketching without waiting for an answer, pencil flowing across the page in gentle arcs. “Are you trying to trick me into staying the night?” he asks.

“I might be,” Grantaire allows, and doesn’t look at Enjolras. His cheeks tinge lightly with pink, and Enjolras is hit with the sudden realisation that Grantaire is probably as nervous about this thing between them as he is.

He makes the executive decision to break out of his pose to pluck the sketchbook and the pencil out of Grantaire’s hands, depositing them back onto the table by the bed before he curls his body around Grantaire’s. 

“You can sketch me tomorrow morning,” he promises, murmuring the words into Grantaire’s neck, and falls asleep to the sensation of Grantaire pressing a kiss to his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com), come say hi! :D


End file.
